Winged

Chapter 1.

"I'm sorry, ma'am I'll need you to step outside this room." A scrawny man with a white doctor's coat requested, sweat layering his skin as he tried his best to calm this concerned mother before him and keep his patient – at least – alive.

"You need to do something! He is my son, I am not going anywhere!" The young woman that was standing right outside the ER angrily told him, tears blurring her vision. She was going crazy. She couldn't remember a time when she had been that scared before, and she generally couldn't get scared easily. But right now, her whole world was slowly falling apart right next to her and she was unable to even move.

"You can't be in there. I'm sorry but you'll have to wait until the doctor informs you." A short woman with black wavy hair politely said, attempting to guide her away from the ER, something that wasn't exactly feasible as the young mother was now viciously trying to see her son, who was laying unconscious in the examination room, his clothes covered in blood, deep gushes spreading all over his body.

"He's crushing!" A man's voice was heard from inside the room and after that the chaos. Instructions were yelled at, meds were given, and a lot more ordering about. Though for the mother it was all a blank. And after that, always would be.

....

"What the hell..." Timothee groaned, his eyes squinting by the sudden feeling of warmth and brightness that overtook him. His whole body ached and he felt rather funnily. Like he was floating or flying. One more time he could remember that he felt the same way and it was some months away when he smoked pot for the first time in one of the parties they usually held after a great victory or something. Oh, that was a great party, but his mum would most definitely kill him if she knew. Though at times he did have the impression that she always knew what he had done and was just waiting for him to confess.

Suddenly he felt really bad for some odd reason. He felt as though he had done something very, truly wrong. I mean, lying to his mum was surely wrong but he wasn't lying in general. Never, we could say, he was a very honest person. He just didn't tell her certain things. But still felt guilty. At that moment he made a mental note to tell her once he would get home. Home. He had to go home.

At once, he tried to stand up but the feeling of floating got so overwhelming that he almost lost his balance and fell face-down to the floor. Well, now that was strange. He was standing in a white room. Well, it wasn't exactly a room because it seemed like it had no walls, no floor, no ceiling but he was able to walk but suddenly it was as though he had cultivated the quality of being able to make himself intangible. He noticed, then, that he wasn't even wearing the clothes he had on when he left home earlier this day. Now, he had on a plain white t-shirt, a white pair of trousers, and no shoes or socks on.

He paced about in this weird place and he was met with a familiar alcove. He didn't know where he had seen it again but he knew that he had. Behind this alcove, the bright light seemed to fade away and he couldn't very well define what was behind it but something pushed him towards it. I mean, he didn't know where he was or why so he hadn't had something to lose anyways.

Getting closer to the alcove he heard whispers, an unending indistinctive chattering, voices talking to each other. Well, now that was, spooky. He took a step closer to it and within seconds he was under the alcove, pacing towards the unknown. All of a sudden he felt cold and weightless, the fabric of his thin clothes not able to protect him from the cold air that hit him directly in the face. But the temperature was not the only thing that changed, rapidly and within milliseconds colors started to form a tornado next to him, sweeping the sandy-haired boy away with it.